


The Adventure Of The French Letters

by Cerdic519



Series: Further Adventures Of Mr. Sherlock Holmes [53]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Attempted Murder, Blackmail, F/M, Government Conspiracy, M/M, Slow Burn, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 14:00:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15414489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: Watson mentioned in passing one time that Sherlock had performed a service for the French government. It was a service in his own unique way, one in which Paris may not have fully appreciated his 'resolution'.





	The Adventure Of The French Letters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OldPingHai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldPingHai/gifts).



_Introduction by Sir Sherrinford Holmes, Baronet_

My brother's attempts to entrap the vile Professor Moriarty necessitated much more travel than he was used to and for some little time he was required to visit France which included spending time in Montpelier, coincidentally where we as a family had once lived. The French government, in between its then frequent attempts at self-destruction, called on his services whilst he was there, but the actual resolution of said problem only took place upon his return to England. Watson documented it as per usual with the rider that it might only see the light of day once all the people involved had passed on and, with that condition now having been fulfilled, I can release it to the Nation.

Kean has just said that I remind him of Queen Victoria's comment about Mr. Gladstone addressing her as if she were a public meeting. I shall have to adjourn to our room to take him down a peg or four. Excuse me....

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

_Narration by Doctor John Hamish Watson, M.D._

One of the many things that I found curious about my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes was his relationship with his two elder brothers, Sherrinford and Mycroft. For someone so brilliant and patriotic – the letters 'V.R.' in pistol-shot in our wall confirmed the latter, to Mrs. Hudson's displeasure – I might have assumed that he would be closer to Mycroft who, he freely admitted, was cleverer than he himself. Yet the middle Holmes lacked the one thing that should have tempered his brilliance and which both his brothers did possess; an understanding of human behaviour. And considering that Holmes was in many ways unconventional, I suppose that his being able to accept his eldest brother living with another gentleman and co-owning an empire of molly-houses was perhaps not that surprising.

The arrival of Mr. Mycroft Holmes to Baker Street shortly after Holmes' return from France did not, I therefore felt, bode well. I could only hope that he was there to assist my friend in his dealings with the terrible Professor Moriarty. Unfortunately he was not (although in the interests of fairness, I later discovered that he was helping him in that matter). Our guest folded himself into the fireside chair.

“You are working for the French government”, Mr. Mycroft Holmes said bluntly.

(That was another thing; for all that he could be blunt at times Holmes at least knew how to be polite towards people. His brother had never shown the slightest hint of any such ability).

“I am”, Holmes said. “The Boulanger Case.” 

The name meant nothing to me. I looked at him inquiringly.

“Georges Boulanger is a French general whose supporters came close to seizing power some two years back”, he explained. “Unfortunately his lack of support for them led not only to their failure, but to his decision to leave the country. For his health, of course.”

Translation, to avoid being shot, I reasoned. Mr. Mycroft Holmes looked coldly at me.

“We do not need this just now, Holmes”, he said. “There are rumours circulating that before his departure, the rogue general secured certain papers that the government did not wish him to have.”

“They were also doubtless behind the false rumours out about that he had visited a male brothel in London last year”, Holmes said. “I checked with Sherry, and he did not.”

I noticed how Mr. Mycroft Holmes winced at the mention of their eldest brother.

“What sort of things are in these papers?” I asked.

“We do not know”, our visitor said flatly.

“There are five ministers implicated”, Holmes said airily. “One for sodomy, one for having three wives in different parts of the capital, two for fraud and one for running a brothel.”

“Male or female?” I asked, writing furiously. If his brother's looks could have killed, I would not have reached the next full-stop.

“Male!” our visitor almost barked. “Holmes!”

“I have advised the French government that their best approach would be to send a message to Jersey and bid for those papers”, Holmes said. “I assume that Her Majesty's Government will also be making an offer?”

It was I thought rather provocative of the general to choose to live in Jersey, a British possession yet only a few miles from the French coast. And within easy reach of someone who might want him removed as a danger. Permanently.

“We cannot let him sell them to the Germans”, his brother said sourly. “Berlin would have a field-day! And he is open to that possibility; his mistress' maid is coming to London with the information or copies of it, and is presumably planning to hawk them round the major embassies to see what she can get for them. An American woman from what I understand; her name is Mrs. Janet Faith.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

“This seems a little odd”, I said once the nuisance had gone. “Your brother knows the French are expecting you to bid on the papers, yet he wants you to offer for our government as well.”

“Mycroft doubtless hoped that I would reveal the figure that Paris gave me so he could bid slightly over it”, Holmes said laconically. “For the British it would be important leverage.”

“Leverage?” I asked. “Why? I thought they were our allies?”

“Today's allies can become tomorrow's enemies”, Holmes said, a little sententiously I thought. “Recently the French have established themselves in both east and central Africa, and there is every prospect that they may seek to unite those lands. With the British now pushing both north from the Cape and south into Sudan, there may be conflict somewhere along the upper Nile before the decade is out. By buying and then returning the documents, our government would be demonstrating its good faith.”

How noble, I thought.

“Not that they would not keep copies!” Holmes added with a chuckle.

Not that noble after all. I should have known. 

“I am more concerned for both the maid and her employers”, he said, frowning. “As we both know governments are dangerous creatures, and when cornered like this they may lash out unexpectedly.”

His words were as so often to prove strangely prescient.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Three days after this Holmes received a telegram from his brother Mycroft.

“He states that Mrs. Faith was welcomed at the Russian Embassy yesterday”, he said. “Officially because she claims to have an ancestor in Russian America, or Alaska as it is now. She also claims to be a distant cousin of President Harrison.”

“According to Mr. Darwin we are all relatives of the current American president if one goes back enough millennia”, I observed. “But it is a clever subterfuge even if it fools nobody.”

We had a quiet breakfast but it was interrupted at the finish by the unexpected arrival of Mr. Mycroft Holmes who looked unusually ruffled. Clearly something calamitous had happened.

“Mrs. Faith's room at _“La Parisienne”_ was turned over yesterday evening!” he said exasperatedly.

I confess that I was more than a little surprised at that. I knew from the newspapers that that particular hotel was one of the most exclusive in London, renowned for respecting the privacy of its guests and, in one famous case, actually shooting at a newspaper journalist who had been trying to get access to one guest. 

“Did she not place the papers in the hotel safe?” Holmes asked.

“I do not know what happened”, his brother admitted, “but she told the constable who interviewed her in her room an hour ago that the papers were safe. Presumably she secreted them somewhere that the thief did not find them; perhaps she even slept with them! But that is not all. Guess what else happened last night?”

Holmes sighed in a put-upon manner. His brother made what a visible effort not to roll his eyes.

“Oh yes, the great detective does not 'guess'”, he sighed. “Well let me tell you - the home of General Boulanger and his mistress was blown to kingdom come!”

“Was anyone killed?” I asked. He shook his head.

“Fortunately they were attending a ball and whoever did it had the 'kindness', if that is the right word, to set off a smaller explosion outside first that caused the three servants to come out of the house. All three were injured but none seriously. So almost certainly the only actual documents pertaining to the scandals are now those in the possession of one Mrs. Janet Faith.”

“It rather looks as if the French government may have decided on a more direct approach to matters”, Holmes said dryly. “The physical proof is vital, especially with the General's standing as low as it is just now. How is this Mrs. Faith?”

“We have put a police guard outside her room, and she herself has gone out for a walk”, his brother said. “Another policeman is accompanying her. I have to get back to Whitehall and monitor the situation, but I thought that I had better come here first.”

Holmes nodded and his brother stood up and left.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

My friend rang for a maid once his brother was gone and dispatched a hastily-written telegram. I wondered why he had not walked to the post office himself to send it – there was one just across and a little way down the road – but I assumed that he had to have had his reasons.

Half an hour later we had another visitor. It was one of those mornings.

“Mrs. Janet Faith”, Mrs. Hudson announced, and withdrew.

The lady who entered was bronze-skinned and sharp-looking, about forty years of age and dressed in possibly every colour under the sun. If she had been aiming for inconspicuous, she had missed it by several hundred miles. I also sensed very quickly that very little would get past her. She nodded to us and took the seat by the fire, placing her large handbag on her lap.

“Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Doctor Watson”, she said in what was clearly a Southern accent. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Thank you for coming, madam”, Holmes smiled. “I believe that I may be of service to you in this, your hour of need.”

She looked at him thoughtfully for some time before speaking.

“I do need your help, Mr. Holmes”, she said plainly, “and I know that you and your doctor friend can be trusted. The law is useless to me – except for that nice young policeman who is waiting for me outside, of course - because they would want to _know_ things. I can tell you the straight honest truth and as you said in your telegram, you can advise me.”

“I will certainly do my best”, he said. “Pray continue.”

“My mistress' house was destroyed last night, and I can only thank a merciful God in Heaven that she and the man she loves were not inside it”, she said fervently. “Gentlemen, the documents in that house were the originals and no copies were made. All I possess is a brief summary sheet of the facts of each matter, which would never stand up in court.”

But it might still do immeasurable damage in the court of public opinion, I thought, especially after that explosion. Holmes pressed his long fingers together.

“How did you keep that sheet safe last night?” he asked.

“My family has always been gifted with what is known as The Sight”, she said. “There are certain events in the future that I can see, and it is both a blessing and a curse.”

“How could that be a curse?” I wondered. She turned to me. 

“It works as and when it chooses, doctor”, she said. “When my late husband was shot in a saloon one day, I received the knowledge of what would happen too late to reach him in time. Other times I see...... things many months, and sometimes years, ahead.”

I had the uneasy feeling that she was alluding to something important although I had no idea what.

“Is it not the case that acting on such premonitions risks your losing the ability?” Holmes asked.

“My late mother once told me that, provided I did so solely to preserve my own safety, I would keep it”, she said. “Use it successfully for anyone else, and I would lose it forever. I have always felt however, that one day something would happen which would make that a price I would be prepared to pay. I had thought it would be for Bill but as I said, he died half an hour before I could reach him.”

“And it does not need the Sight to foresee that once someone realizes that they have destroyed the original documents, then they may take a more deadly revenge on your master and mistress”, Holmes said. “Even on your good self if they believe you to be a threat. May I ask what your plans are after this trip to our metropolis?”

“I plan to return to the United States and move to live near to my daughter Jennifer”, she said. “She has a house in the territories that they are settling beyond the mighty Mississippi River.”

Holmes eyed the lady's handbag thoughtfully.

“When you go”, he said, “leave that behind. And when you get back to your hotel, you may care to ask them for an evening edition of the _“Times”_. I think that you may find it quite interesting. You may call and collect your bag at ten o'clock tomorrow morning.”

She looked at him curiously but placed her bag on the floor, then bade us farewell and left.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

“Is it safe for her to be out there?” I asked anxiously. “Even with a police guard?”

“I am most certain that she will have been followed from the hotel, most probably by the agents of more than one foreign country”, Holmes said with a smile. “Indeed, they have quite probably been falling over each other in the process! They will all note that she left her bag here and will presume that she left the documents in it.”

“Will they not try to raid here tonight?” I asked worriedly.

Holmes chuckled and pulled up a notepad on which he began to write. I waited for him to finish whereon he folded the paper and handed it to me.

“I will stay and guard this politically-sensitive empty handbag”, he smiled, “and you will go to the offices of the _“Times”_ and post this for the evening edition. You will then call in at the offices of the illustrious Martinson  & Brackendale and spend ten minutes inside the building before returning here.”

I stared at him expectantly but apparently he was not inclined to elucidate. Rather grumpily I left on my errands. And it remained a mystery, until I got to the newspaper offices and they read to me what Holmes had written.

Damnation but the man was a genius!

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

At ten o'clock sharp the following morning Mrs. Faith returned to Baker Street, her policeman no longer in tow. She had a broad smile on her face in contrast with her anxiety the day before.

“I knew that I could trust you!” she smiled. “A most brilliant move, sir.”

Holmes' newspaper item had been a statement informing all who needed to know that he, acting on behalf of the Her Majesty's Government, had purchased the sole rights to the Boulanger documents. Furthermore, as Mrs. Faith was now a client, Holmes had taken the precaution of sending copies of the files to ten different lawyers around the United Kingdom. I understood the stop at the lawyers' office now.

“Even when the politicians in those files fall from power”, Holmes said, “and France being what she has been of late that is likely sooner rather than later, their successors will not want to risk tarnishing the French government's reputation by targeting you or your employers.”

“Thank you”, she beamed, picking up her handbag. “You have saved not only my life, but quite certainly those of the people I both love and work for.”

“It has been a pleasure”, Holmes smiled. She turned to me.

“Doctor, would you please walk me downstairs?”

I was a little surprised but I agreed and escorted her out of the door. Outside, I called a cab for her, and one quickly rolled up. I helped her in and handed her her handbag. But she did not call out her destination at once.

“Doctor”, she said carefully, “remember how I said that a time would come when I had to risk losing my abilities for a greater good?”

“Yes”, I said uncertainly.

“I have something to tell you”, she said quietly. “No matter what things may _appear_ to be, no matter how dark death's vale looks when you are traversing it, one thing is as sure as the sun rising in the east. That man up there loves you - and he will _never_ leave you!”

I stepped back in shock.

“Driver, Paddington Station!” she commanded loudly.

I was stood here for some time with my mouth open as her cab disappeared down Baker Street. How strange.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩


End file.
